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2013-01-29 Widow Escapes!
It's been a grueling few days for the Widow. Not bad, as far as interrogations go. Some slapping around, a few doses of sodium ammitol, but nowhere near the level of torture that one might expect of The Red Skull's operations. It seems like every time the Skull's schedule opened up for some serious interrogation, /something/ had come up to divert his attention. A gas leak one day that required a small evacuation- the unexpected present by Deadpool of a large cache of captured HYDRA weaponry the next. Once, an unexpected issue with the sewage system even managed to make every toilet and sink back up at the same time. Now, the Skull and Natasha are finally having some one-on-one time in her small, 8x10 cell, with Deadpool loitering in the background, eating an apple. Noisily. Natasha Romanov was used to being tied up. Hell, sometimes she let herself get captured on purpose--it was, after all, part of her Red Room training, and its innumerable undermining strategies of letting your opponent underestimate your nature. She knew, however, that Skull was no fool. In fact, she'd prided herself on his arrogance, and had a bit of her own game plan. Alas, she found herself in a compromised position--her Widow's bite bracers, all of her hidden gear, her belt--removed. She'd been beaten and poisoned less than a week before capture, left for dead, found and brought to a Tokyo hospital. Now, a few days of of Skull's treatment had left her body weakened to levels she wasn't familiar. All she truly had left was a hand full of tricks learned from her years of spying, and her raw stubborness. She scowled at the Red Skull. The Red Skull has not been neglecting his 'guest' at all. As a virtuoso, as a grandmaster of the art of torture, his understanding extends well past physical breaking into the realm of the psyche. Repeatedly bringing someone to the edge and then releasing them for another day... well, that's one of the oldies-but-goodies. Each time the damage caused by one's own anticipation becomes that much sharper with no effort. Tonight however... "Tonight, Fraulein Romanov," he leans down, runs a scalpel down the side of her face, along her neck and down the line of her cleavage and then whispers in her ear, "tonight we dispense with the foreplay. Tonight, Black Widow... we go all the way." "I hear you go for the kneecaps first. Is that right?" Deadpool chomps juicily on his apple, absolutely ruining the dramatic tension. "Or is that the /last/ thing you do. I'm a fan of torturing people with Cher. Y'know, start blasting some music, at like, two AM. Or! Or!" he bounces. "We could cut her loose at a frat party or something, and all the guys are like, 'sup babe' and she'd be all 'as if!', and have to deal with /super lame/ jocks all the time," Deadpool says, clapping his hands together and accidentally throwing his apple core at a guard. Inside, Natasha's emotions were a classic, paradoxical mixture of confidence and fear. She had become accustomed to this feeling... for she'd dealt with madmen before, and certainly those like Skull. The true depths of his depravity, however, remained a mystery. While he walked the walk of a trained torturer and interrogator, using time, incremental building of pain, she also knew that words and action were indeed a fine line. She'd done this sort of work herself, after all, and the idea of being on the chopping block herself not entirely alien. Her gaze remained unphased. While looking a bit angry and even grim, she held the expression with such a sternness as to almost be a poker face. She continued her silence for most of the last few days, as far as she could tell. Almost proud of herself. But if this was indeed Skull's night to amp things up to permanent damage to her body, she would probably do well to play her hand... unnerve him, to see what he was truly made of. All at once, she spat into his face, directly into his eye. "Saved that one for you, you charlatan. Your party tricks are the petty flails of a desperate man. Even if you dispose of me, your failure is all but assured. Predictable and pathetic, like a cockroach kingdom." The Skull crouches beside his 'patient', savoring the sight and the feel of every quiver in her Red Room trained body. Each minute sound of the tiniest bit of discomfort. He frowns as the guard jumps out of the way of the apple. Very quickly it has spread through the staff, excepting Crossbones, that one of the best ways to get ahead--or survive--is not to be near Wade. "Deadpool, you are spoiling the mood. I need to be able to concentrate." His frown turns upside down as he wipes saliva off his face. A small victory, yes, but one that indicates many more pleasing ones to come tonight. "I have heard those words from so many before you, my pretty spider. And while none were as delectable, a number of them had more credibility. And yet here I stand. With millions of lives destroyed in my wake. Does that sound like failure? Hm?" Skull depresses the lever that begins feeding a concoction of his own devising into the IV line in Nat's arm. "In a few moments you will feel... well, you will feel everything. Intensely. Your senses will be ratcheted up so much the sensation of your eyelid on your eyeball will be like sandpaper." He studies the scalpel. "And then we will truly begin." Natasha leans back, while quickly eyeing the IV. "I hope your chemical lasts long enough for me to superbly savor your face being dragged across this concrete floor." She fidgets ever so slightly, her mind abuzz with some ideas of how she might be able to wriggle out of her intricately tied strapping. She would need her hands on some sort of tool, alas. "I find it laughable that you attribute yourself as the source of the woven decimation of so many. Is it not the fires of humanity itself that storm tyranny? You credit yourself with this? Such arrogance may drive you to some power, but it is nested in self-aggrandised lies." She begins to think one chanting phrase over and over again inside her mind: "Continue to troll him. Continue to troll him." She doesn't know what will happen once this drug takes effect, but she knows this is what she needs to do to slow him down. Time was a resource she needed to reclaim. The Skull begins to lecture in the voice of a teacher who inspires countless student to go and do great things. Or horrific things, as the case may be. "As the drug takes effect, time will slow to an absolute crawl. The better for you to feel each cut." A perfect little slash and an inch-long slice begins to well up with a minimum of blood. Perfect control. Despite how small and shallow, the wound causes intense pain. "The combination of infinite time and infinite sensation will break you, I assure you." Yes, time slows. His words hang in the air like crystal glyphs. The pain stretches to eternity. But here's the thing... for someone trained body and mind like the Widow, a benefit becomes obvious. Every motion the Skull makes is now in slow motion. He is counting on a perfectly bound captive. One without a weapon or means of escape. He pauses to answer her insults, a fatal if common flaw in a master of evil. "I credit myself with acknowledging reality. With understanding that the fires of humanity are only ever stoked by the will of the supreme few. I stoke that fire and I steer it... it burns what I want it to burn. A nation. A race. The entire globe if I so will it!" He is standing again, now losing himself to his beloved monologue. He waves the scalpel back and forth unconsciously as if conducting his own speech. And he brushes his body against the side of the table holding his captive. At that moment: WHURP WHURP WHURP WHURP There's a bleeprble from the radio unit in the wall, and then the message repeats until Skull hits the 'acknowledged' button next to it. "I didn't do it!" Deadpool says automatically, holding his hands up. "She told me she was over eighteen!" he adds. "Or is this something else? Yeah, that's something else. And I'm sure she was over eighteen. Seriously though, it's an easy excuse to make." The sensation of time's slowing, combined with Natasha's generally over-active, trained mind... and her own history of trauma and being tortured... weaves itself into a surprising effect. One that Natasha herself had never quite experienced: An unfathomable, rainstorm of thoughts fill the space of a haulted void. Of course, these thoughts are only occassionally related to her current circumstance, and the pupils of her eyes well up into the dize of dimes. This altered perception takes Natasha's thoughts in dozens of directions, as she begins exploring her childhood, her cooking proficientcy, several of SHIELDs unsolved mystery cases, and, of course, getting out of this situation. "GUNS!" she screams, flickering her eyes behind Skull. With his response, she sends her head craning downward, tapping the scalpal out of Skulls hands. A small cut made in her forehead--a cut she was willing to make. The scalpal flips twice, and is snagged below by Natasha's waiting hand. She, obviously, was going to have to move fast. Her head twitched in several directions, rather hummingbird-like. She remembered her Bracers were nearby... probably in this room, somewhere. With a few measured flicks, she had nearly freed her first hand of its strap. Nobody snarls like The Red Skull snarls as the alarm klaxons ring out. "Was ist-? Someone is going to pay! DEADPOOL!" As he turns to give orders, the cry of GUNS! tears his attention back and, caught in a moment of uncommon physical awkwardness, he takes Widow's head butt to his hand and watches with a rage that almost screams aloud as his knife spins out and into her hand. "Nein, du dreckiger Schlampe!" As she cuts furiously at her restraints (old-school can be a drawback when you use leather restraints instead of steel) He aims a vicious knife-hand (karate!) chop at her throat, one that would practically sever her head from her torso. Deadpool is many things. Funny, smart, sexy, brilliant, a male ballerina, a great cook, a tender lover, and many, many other things that are mostly only true in the little part of his brain that controls the vast majority of his actions. "I didn't do it!" he screams again, even as he draws a pair of katanas. "I told you! She came on to me! I was just walking down the hallway, and Sin's all 'hey baby' and I'm all 'no way' and she's all 'my dad's on a fishing trip' and I'm all 'but I'm a senior, and you're a freshman, and it's weird!' and she's all 'C'mon baby'! " and he just WON'T TURN OFF THE CRAZY. Because Deadpool is the best at what he does, and is better than Wolverine at whatever it is that guy does. That said, he is insanely reckless, has a tolerance for pain that gives Sin a run for her money, and the kind of martial arts training that can only come from getting your ass kicked a LOT. The Merc with the Mouth explodes into a whirling ginsu of motion, katanas flashing in a pair of savage arcs that splatter goon-colored blood all over the walls. It's done so smoothly that the long step into a deep spider-stride is as fluid as a dance move, and leads to an almost gentle nudge of his katana hilt into the back of the Skull's knee- just enough to imbalance him mid strike. And, just to top off his smexy Ninja skills, a small automatic pistol flickers from out of nowhere, neatly landing in Natasha's outstretched hand. Y'know, 'cause, Ninja. Natasha's altered state continues to send her new extra mental capacity partially into some Lawnmower-Man like orbit. She began retracing the steps of her prison guards over the last few days, recalling one of them making a veiled reference to her bracers. Probably across the room, far from Deadpool, she thought. She considered that she'd been leaning too much on her spy toys as of late, and then considered, with much nuance, the heirarchy and communication structure of Red Skull's soldiers. Infiltration, she thought, might not be as difficult as she'd previously thought. Widow's thought, and her quick attempts to break free were interrupt of course, not just by her observance of Deadpool's ninja manuevers, but the freakishly powerful strike from Skull against her neck,s ending her head and chest slamming into the extremely hard, wooden girdie she's been tied to for days. She lets out a pained wale, the true intent of the drug overwhelming her senses. It felt as if a dozen angry baseball bats were made of electricity, and striking her from every direction. Rage can also fuel will. The Skull is very Zen this way: his self dissolves and there is only rage-fueled action. Somebody who should by all reasonable rights be caught between a sword and a gunfire place instead is somehow stabilizing already, moving every bit as fast as Deadpool, and unloading a Luger repeatedly into where the merc's face was. BLAMBLAMBLAM! The Skull's got his own crazy and right now it vibrates super-cool I AM DEATH DESTROYER OF PUNK-ASSED BITCHES. "How does that feel, Mr. Wilson? How does it feel to know that I've been expecting this and that I had you figured right down to the minute? I will be curious to know how it feels when you are strapped down next to the Black Widow and pumped full of the same drugs. I have had some interesting conversations with Zola as to how we might make the best use of your healing factor." While this spiel rolls on his other hand has reached out behind him and caught the handgun without a look, aiming it at the Widow. And neglecting her heightened state of perception and nearly-freed state. Deadpool's fairly quick- not as fast in sheer numbers as Skull is, but what he lacks in an agility score, his player is totally willing to fudge with a crazy high Martial Arts score. I'm an 8! So, the pistol goes BANG BANG BANG, but Deadpool goes DODGE DODGE DODGE, and ends up getting a new hole in the head instead of a bunch of new holes in his head. "Hey! That's my shtick, Mister Schmidt!" Deadpool objects. "The whole bullet-time conversation? Fitting a few dozen words into the space of a gunfight? That's my thing! I mean, admittedly, it's a trope common to comics and MUSHing, but c'mon, you can't do action AND monologue. That's unfair!" he says, still mid-dodge. "So, like, stand and deliver, or, y'know, fight or something, but YOU CAN'T DO BOTH. ONLY I CAN DO BOTH," he says. And to prove his point, he draws a large sidearm and promptly puts two bullets into Skull's chest, center mass. In retrospect of this moment, Natasha would find one piece of amusement to laugh about. The vast cauldron of pure pain that channeled through her body, instead of rendering her a hapless gimp, combined with her racing mind and merely revitilized her survival instinct. In otherwords, just like Skull, Widow's aggression fueled her will to escape. Natasha's legs kicked forward. For a moment, it looked like they might even break the multitude of straps holding them down, but they didn't. It was no matter, for Natasha's sneaky hand had already been freed, and the last cut was made to the device holding her arm down entirely. Her other hand, now holding a pistol that's been gifted by our unpredictable merc (by Natasha's standards, anyway), sent two shots fired directed at Red Skull's leg. Her freed arm pulling back, and slicing with a renewed vigor towards her neck. This is what she needed to finally get free of this horrible contraption, now having layers upon layers of her torture-laden sweat bathed upon it. She yoinked herself out in one, almost rubberband-like motion, driving herself forward a few paces with great force, trying to ignore, and hopefully dodge, Skull's gun. The Red Skull, while puzzled about talk of mushing and monologuing, takes two to the chest. As his consciousness begins to warp by the hot red flames at the end of the tunnel, he thinks unusual thoughts, wishing he could point out that he is The Red Skull, scourge of the Marvel universe, nemesis and evil mirror to Captain America, the man who destroys both men and gods by force of will alone and someone not ever punked out by insane bitches whose fourth wall breaking powers only apply in their own title, and when they get used they warp everything and bleed out to all the characters in a scene. But he can't, because two shots smash into his leg and the darkness closes too fast and this cosmic realization evaporates to be forgotten for all time, replaced by the warm, fuzzy feeling of hate. All Sku; manages is, "Damn... you... Wade... Wilson. Damn... you... Schwarze... Witwe." More alarms. Guards are on the way. Probably with horrific energy weapons. And robots. Deadpool's vorpal blades go snicker snack, and the last of the trailing restraints inhibiting Natasha's movements are sliced away. Also, a little bit of her modesty, in a sexy, battle-damaged sort of way. "Ok, he's down, but he ain't out," Deadpool says, kicking Schmidt in the ribs. "So we should et-gway with the am-scraying." He sheathes his katanas and readies a second, comically oversized pistol. "Grab your gear, and arm up. The security alarms ain't gonna keep 'em from seeing your mug on candid camera," he says, pointing his chin up at the corner of the ceiling. "But we can keep 'em off us until we can make it to the weapon's lab." He eyes Natasha. "I mean, no hard feelings, right? But I couldn't think of any other way to get you into the base and find out what he's been doing with this giant glowing blue thingy," he explains. "I heard he almost took out this super heavyweight mutant with it a few weeks ago, and it seemed like the kinda thing SHIELD oughta know about." Natasha, as much as she'd hate to admit it, and certainly wouldn't outloud, couldn't help but want to thank Wade. Of course, she wouldn't. And, of course, she reminded herself that she would've escaped just fine without him, of course. Quite likely with far more bruises and broken bones to show for it, however... She wobbled for a few paces, back on her feet after days of being worked. While her mind was racing, her body was sluggish and unpredictable. Both pained and exhaused, yet flippantly shoveled with sudden adrenaline. She pulled herself clumsily over to the table across the room, and shuffled through the contents, revealing her very prized gear. Placed in perfect presentation-like arrangment--had they been planning on deconstructing her gear? She thought it lucky they didn't--many a guarded secret could be hacked, presumably by an expert. She strapped her gear back on, taking about twently long seconds to regain her footing. All the while she pretended to ignore Deadpool, but suddenly nodded to him, moving into a running pace, as if to follow his lead. HISSSS. The blast doors open. Reconditioned Omnicorp ED209 robots fill the entrance. Without a moment for reply, the miniguns on the arms of two of them spin up and begin firing, turning the room into confetti. What Widow doesn't know is that Deadpool isn't just packing .45 Win Mag wadcutter bullets. He's loaded up, special made, tungsten-core bullets that are designed specifically to deal with robotz an' stuff. The massive guns whipcrack deafeningly, and blow the faces off the robots. Deadpool gets shot in the stomach twice, but who's counting? "Ow! I got shot! Twice!" he tells Natasha. "And I can hear ya thinkin- 'hur I coulda got out without Wade's help', but lemme tell ya, who spent all day singing 'Don't Stop Believin' into that Kraut's ears? That crazy Kraut is crackers! He crashed into here and crassly tried to cap you!" Deadpool swings through the door, guns akimbo, and lays out two more robot guards who are going BEEP BORP and making dumb, Robot sounds that only dumb evil villain robots seem to make, 'cause Skull seems like the kind of villain to make wacky, cartoonish sort of evil villain robots. "C'mon, weapon's lab is down this way. We got five minutes, tops, before they're on us like white on rice on a paper plate in a snowstorm!" Black Widow, fueled with sensory-enhancing drugs, broke into a wave of excitement. The robot who'd began firing into the room seemed only like some detacted, video-game like character to her. Like a tetris block to shift. She ran right past it with whismical ease, darting into a powerful stride. The movements carried by her overwhelming, days-long want for freedom, she had already begun plotting her route of escape and path back to SHIELD base, flipping on her homing beacon while running. Taking out a few gaurds in hallways with her Widow's Bite, she considered what to do with Deadpool. First thought: lose him. She was in no state for a real fight, and while she loathed his recklessness, she also considered the old addage about keeping one's enemies closer. She decided to bury her ill-content, at least for now. With no interest in the weapons lab, she decided to say one last thing to Wade, "Thank you for the aide." She winced at the words, but continued, "Do not interfere with my work again, or I will end you." Her seriousness dripping off her eyes like daggers. In a moment, like Bat-Man, she was gone. She, of course, was trained for escape, and finding her way out didn't take long. "Hey, uh, so call me later?" Deadpool shouts after Natasha. "'cause I totally downloaded a bunch of stuff onto this thumb drive that was marked 'Skull's Secret Recipes' and 'HYDRA Prototype' and stuff like that! And I figure SHIELD MIGHT WANT THIS BECAUSE GORRAMIT, I BROUGHT YOU HERE FOR A REASON." The Red Skull sits up after the silence stretches on for a few minutes. He rubs his chest and massages his leg where he was shot. "Good thing I wore the full body armor. Nice aim, Deadpool. I appreciate you hitting my chest and not my head." It's hard to tell from his voice whether he appreciates it or not. He gets to his feet. "I'm glad to see she grabbed the wristlets. You'll be getting a very nice bonus for this." Category:Logs Category:RPLogs